Table 10 by Jenny Kate
by ControlPossessSeduceContest
Summary: She knows where she came from and where she's going, often feeling stuck in a rut and like she needs a redo on life. He's kind and generous, and she doesn't quite know what to make of him. All he seems to want is her pie. "Where have you been all my life?" ... "Are you talking to the pie or me?" ... "Both." Contest entry for the Control. Possess. Seduce. Contest


**Contest entry for the Control. Possess. Seduce. Contest**

 **Title** : Table 10

 **Rating:** M

 **Summary** : She knows where she came from and where she's going, often feeling stuck in a rut and like she needs a redo on life. He's kind and generous, and she doesn't quite know what to make of him. All he seems to want is her pie. "Where have you been all my life?" ... "Are you talking to the pie or me?" ... "Both."

 **Disclaimer** : The author does not own any publicly recognizable characters herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

 **Table 10**

"Can you take table ten?" LuAnne asks. "Fucking Carla called in sick again today. I swear, if it's not her three snot-nosed kids, it's her." She huffs and walks away with a loaded tray.

I take the two waters I need for table five and walk over to table ten. A man probably five years older than me is sitting in the booth, staring out the window. I've seen him here before, but he always sits in this booth and is never in my section.

But I _have_ noticed.

He's noticeable.

Handsome. Tall. Well-dressed.

But there's something edgy about him. Maybe it's the long trench-style coat. Maybe it's the bit of scruff on his jawline. Most men who come in here are well-groomed—their hair perfectly coiffed. His is perfectly imperfect.

"What can I get for you?" I ask, standing beside the table and pulling out my order pad. I don't need it. I can remember every order by heart, but it gives me something to do with my hands, keeps me from fidgeting.

He glances up at me and looks annoyed for a second, but then his features soften, and a small smile graces his face.

"What kind of pie do you have today?" he asks.

"Blueberry and chocolate."

"Hmmmm," he hums, letting his eyes wander over me while he decides. "Tough choices. What would you suggest?"

"I'd go with the blueberry with a side of cream."

"Is it hot?"

"Straight out of the oven."

Since it's not even nine o'clock in the morning, the pie hasn't cooled yet. I made it fresh when I got in this morning.

"Sold."

He hands the menu to me, holding on to it and causing me to look at him. I tug on it, and he smiles again, finally letting go.

"Anything else?" I ask.

"Coffee with cream and sugar."

"Coming right up."

I walk away, but I can't help looking back. When I do, he's watching me. Normally, that kind of behavior would either gross me out or freak me out. I'm not a stranger to inappropriate advances working in a place like this, but I can hold my own. Glancing back one last time, I see he's turned his attention back to the window, and I almost trip over my own two feet. His profile is something to look at. And yeah, I'm definitely not grossed out or freaked out… but I do feel something. It starts in my stomach and kinda travels up to my chest.

"I should've warned you he'd want pie," LuAnne says, snapping me out of my trance. "He always orders pie for breakfast."

"No problem," I tell her, cutting a large slice and putting it in a white ceramic bowl.

"Blueberry, huh?"

"Yeah, with cream."

"You sold him on your cream?"

I laugh somewhat nervously, pouring cream into a small pitcher. "I guess so."

When I walk back to the table, I set the pie down in front of him.

"Do I just pour the cream on it?" he asks, picking up the small pitcher.

"Yeah, that's why I put it in a bowl for you, so use as much as you'd like."

I watch as he pours a little and then a little more. Without wasting any time, he picks up the spoon and digs in, moaning in pleasure as soon as the pie hits his tongue. "Where have you been all my life?"

"Are you talking to the pie or me?"

He quirks an eyebrow. "Both," he replies, taking another bite and then licking a bit of filling off his lip.

I chuckle nervously, because with his eyes on me and him eating pie like he's devouring his prey, my entire body is heating up.

"Let me know if you need anything else," I tell him.

"Don't worry. I will," he says in a low, husky voice that shoots straight to my core.

I turn quickly, refusing to look back this time. I really need to get a grip. I don't know what's wrong with me today. Maybe that second cup of coffee was a bit too much.

Returning to the kitchen window, I wait for the next order to be up, taking a much needed breather and trying to get myself in check.

"Order up," Mack yells, sliding a plate onto the counter. On my way to table two, I nearly trip over a briefcase that's sitting in the aisle. Instead of telling the guy to watch where he puts his shit, I apologize, making sure I didn't spill anything on the expensive leather.

Just as I turn around from that fumble, a guy runs smack dab into me, and the omelet I was carrying is now on his loafer.

"What the fuck?" he exclaims, looking at his foot in disgust. A small piece of egg is on the leg of his slacks, but other than that, he's fine. It could've been so much worse.

I bend down and begin to wipe at his shoe and pant leg, apologizing along the way.

"You need to watch where you're going."

"I'm so sorry," I tell him again.

"You're making it worse," he yells. "Just stop!"

"It's just a little bit on your pant leg, sir. And your shoe is completely clean."

"I have a very important meeting this afternoon. I can't quite go into it with egg on my pants."

For some reason, it strikes me as funny, and I have to fight back a giggle. "No, absolutely not. I'm so sorry."

"I'll be sending these pants over to be dry-cleaned before lunch."

"What?" I ask.

"You heard me. Dry-cleaned. Before lunch. Or are you not competent enough to make that happen?"

"I—" I begin but feel a warm hand on my arm, pulling me up from the floor. I think it's Mack or LuAnne coming to my rescue, but when I look over, the green eyes from table ten are staring back at me. He looks angry, and I assume it's because of me. I seem to be the one to blame today.

"Look, asshole," he snaps at the guy in the three-piece suit. "She apologized. It was an accident. You need to calm down."

"Send the pants over. I'll get them dry-cleaned for you," I mutter to the man, wanting the whole situation to be over. I hate confrontation, and I hate being the center of attention.

He pushes me out of the way and into the hard chest of the pie guy. Protective arms come around me, pulling me in, and I think I hear a growl deep in his chest. I don't know what to say or do, so I bend down and continue cleaning the floor, ignoring everyone else in the diner. LuAnne comes over with a mop and grumbles under her breath about pretentious pricks.

After a minute or so, the man who came to my rescue finds his way back to his table, and I wish there were some way I could repay him for standing up for me. I want to thank him, but glancing back at his table and then at the door, I see he's gone.

I need a redo on today.

As I go back to cleaning tables, I notice money sticking out from under his bowl… his very empty bowl. I pull it out and about choke on my tongue when I realize it's a hundred-dollar bill.

.

.

.

When the breakfast rush is over, LuAnne and I are standing in the kitchen.

"There's a large amount of money in an envelope under the register. It belongs to Pie Guy."

"Who?" LuAnne asks, looking up from her crossword puzzle.

"The guy who gets pie for breakfast."

"Did you mess up on his change?"

"No. I actually thought he'd taken off without paying, which was fine because I owed him, but then I found a hundred-dollar bill under his bowl."

"Girl, you should take that money and thank him properly the next time you see him."

I swat at her with my towel I've been using to dry dishes. "I can't do that."

"Sure you can. It's real easy. Here, let me show you." She stands up and walks to the register, pulling out the envelope and then the cash. "You just do this," she says, taking the money, folding it up, and sticking it in my bra.

"LuAnne!"

Her laugh makes me laugh, so we're both laughing when the door chimes. A very prim and proper lady with a tight bun and even tighter pencil skirt walks in carrying a garment bag. She walks up to the counter and drapes the bag over the register.

"Mr. Demetri needs these no later than noon."

I look at her with what can only be a stupefied expression.

"He was serious?" I ask to her retreating form, but she doesn't turn around. "He was serious," I say, turning to look at LuAnne, who's standing beside me with her hands on her hips and her nostrils flared.

"I'd like to do more than wipe egg on his leg," she sneers. "What a fucking asshole."

I sigh and pick up the bag. "I don't even know where to take something like this."

"I do. Come on. Let's call Glen and see if he'll give us a discount and rush delivery."

She picks up the phone and dials a number.

"I'm not letting the diner pay for this. It was my mistake. I ran into him."

"No, he ran into you."

"Whatever. It doesn't really matter. I'll just get the stupid pants cleaned and be done with it."

"Next time, it might be a nice hot pot of coffee on his dick," she mutters as she dials the number.

I can't help but laugh. It's either that or cry. And there's no crying at the diner. There's nothing Mack hates more than tears.

.

.

.

"What's this?" he asks, looking at the envelope and then back at me.

"It's your change from Monday."

"I left that for you."

I shake my head. "No, I can't accept that."

"You can. I gave it to you."

"I'm not taking a $95 tip for a piece of pie and a cup of coffee."

"It's the best piece of pie I've ever had."

"Still."

"It wasn't just for the pie and coffee. I wanted to help with the cleaning bill from the prick who made you drop your tray."

"That was my fault."

"No, it wasn't."

"Still."

"Take it," he demands, sliding the envelope across the table until it's touching my hand.

"I can't."

"Is there a cap on how much tip a person can leave?" he asks, looking around like there might be a sign or notice posted somewhere.

"No, but…"

"But nothing. Now, I'd like another piece of pie. What do you have today?"

"I made cherry and caramel apple today."

"Wait. _You_ made?"

"Yes. _I_ made cherry and caramel. I make all the pies."

That damn eyebrow shoots up, and those green eyes look at me so intensely that my knees feel weak.

"Well, well, well. And here I thought my love affair was with LuAnne."

I swallow hard, telling my stomach to settle the fuck down. "Nope." The funny thing is that even though LuAnne has worked here for decades, she can hardly make a grilled cheese. The thought of her baking a pie is hysterical.

"Well, Bella." The sound of my name coming out of his mouth is erotic. And I don't even know why I think that. I'm not sure I even know the real meaning of erotic, but that's the only way I can describe it. The two syllables that make up my name have never sounded so good. "I'll have a slice of your cherry pie."

 _Fuck._

A pie order should not make you lose coherent thought.

"Right, cherry," I say, clearing my throat and pulling out my order pad. I scribble something down and then turn around and walk toward the kitchen.

"Bella," he calls out, and there it is again—the weak knees, the heat in the pit of my stomach. "You forgot something." He's holding up the envelope, and the tables closest to him are watching us, so I walk quickly back to the table and take it from him.

.

.

.

"You have a customer at table ten," LuAnne says, walking into the kitchen.

"But Carla's here," I tell her, continuing to plate the food that's coming off the grill.

"But he asked for you," she says.

I wipe my hands on the towel and walk out to the table. This is the second time he's asked for me to wait on him. I'm not complaining. I like waiting on him and not for the excessive tips. He's nice. He's easy on the eyes. He's interesting. He's kind of demanding but in a way that makes my insides do funny things.

"Good morning."

"It is now," he says, looking from his phone up to me and sliding the device into the inside pocket of his suit coat.

I smile an awkward smile, unsure of how to take him sometimes. "Pie?" I ask, cutting out the small talk.

"What did you bake today?"

"Coconut cream and peach."

"Coconut cream."

I nod and walk back to the kitchen to retrieve his pie and coffee.

"What's that all about?" LuAnne asks.

"Beats me."

"Uh-huh."

"What?"

"I think someone is sweet on you."

"That's crazy. He's… well, _him_. And I'm _me_. That doesn't even compute."

"Yeah. It does. He's a handsome guy, and you're a beautiful girl. It computes."

"Someone like him would never like someone like me. Not like that, anyway."

"I wouldn't be so sure," she says, peeking out the small window and over to where he's sitting.

"Besides, I don't even know his name. He just likes my pie."

"Is that what they're calling it these days?"

I groan, rolling my eyes.

.

.

.

"You weren't here yesterday," he says as I walk up to the table to take his order.

"I was, just later than usual," I tell him, hating that my voice sounds like death warmed over. I think I'm better. At least, that's what I'm telling myself. I also think I jinxed myself by thinking about how I never get sick.

"Sounds like you're still not well." There's genuine concern in his voice, and it kinda throws me for a loop.

"I, uh… I'm fine. No fever." That's actually a lie. I'm not sure if I have a fever or not. I couldn't find a damn thermometer anywhere.

"Just because you don't have a fever doesn't mean you're fine." His voice has an edge to it, like he's mad at me for being sick. Maybe he's a germaphobe?

"I'm not contagious, if that's what you're afraid of."

"I'm not," he says, looking me over carefully like he's a doctor. "You should be at home, resting."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Because I have to work… Mack needs me."

He nods his head, still watching me intently.

"So, what can I get you?" I ask, trying to get this over with.

"LuAnne."

"What?"

"I want LuAnne to wait on me."

"Okay," I finally say, retreating back to the kitchen.

Definitely a germaphobe.

"Table ten wants you," I tell LuAnne as she passes by with a pile of dirty plates.

"I kinda have my hands full."

"Here," I say, taking what I can from her without making them all fall on the floor. "Go take the pie guy's order."

LuAnne huffs her annoyance loudly but heads out of the kitchen anyway.

I set the dishes in the large wash tub and lean against the side. My energy is shot. I feel like I could sleep for days, but I have to work because my rent isn't going to pay itself. Mr. Watkins, my super, was already by two days ago to inform me I only have until the weekend to get caught up on my rent.

After a few minutes of resting against the counter with my eyes closed, I hear loud footsteps and then a snort from LuAnne. When I open my eyes, she's looking at me and shaking her head.

"Take that apron off, and get out of here."

"What?" I ask incredulously.

"You heard me. Go on home and get some rest. If you're feeling better in the morning, I'll see you then. If not, stay home."

"I can't. You know that," I tell her, pushing off the counter and walking around her, getting ready to push through the swinging doors.

"Don't go out those doors."

"Why not? What is wrong with you, LuAnne?" I turn around and look her up and down. "Maybe you're the one who's sick."

"Here," she says, walking forward and shoving something down into the front of my apron. "Don't look at me like that. And don't ask me questions. If you want to know where it's from, you'll have to ask Edward."

"Who?"

"Pie Guy," she says in frustration, throwing her hands in the air toward the door.

"Why?" I'm so confused. Maybe it's the Sudafed she gave me earlier, but my head feels weird, and she's not making any sense.

"His instructions are clear. You're to go home and rest until you feel better."

"He's not the boss, and I need to work. I have rent due by the weekend, and I'm still two hundred short."

"That should cover it," she says, motioning to the pocket of my apron.

"What?" I ask again, starting to sound like a broken record. I pull out what she stuffed in there. Money. Folded up money. As I unfold the bills, one falls to the ground. It's a hundred, as is the one still in my hand. "Why?" I ask, looking up at her.

She huffs and rolls her eyes, muttering under her breath. "Look, when I went to take his order, he told me you were too sick to be at work, with which I agreed. Then he asked me why you were here, and I told him because people like us work even when we don't feel like it. That seemed to really piss him off, so he took out his wallet and folded those up and said to give them to you."

"I can't accept this. You know that. I just… I can't."

LuAnne lets out a deep breath and leans against the counter. "Listen, honey. I knew you wouldn't want to accept it. I told him you wouldn't. But you _should_."

I look at the money and then back to her, my body sagging under the extreme exhaustion I've felt since yesterday. "Maybe I can pay him back or something?" I say, staring at the money and thinking hard about taking him up on his offer.

"I'm pretty sure he won't let you."

"Why would he do this for me?"

"Some people are actually just nice." She smiles, shaking her head. "But if you ask me, I think he likes more than the pies you bake, and he's worried about you."

My cheeks flush with heat, and it's not from the fever. "No," I say, shaking my head in disbelief. "There's no way. He's…"

"Yeah, yeah. He's gorgeous and rich and successful. You've already told me. But he obviously thinks enough of you to pay for you to have a day off work. So you should take him up on it. If you think you need to pay him back, then find a way to do that." She winks at me when I look up at her, and my face heats up even more.

"LuAnne!" I exclaim, ready to run back out into the diner and throw the money at him. "I'm _not_ like that. I don't do stuff like—"

"Bella," she says, grabbing me by the shoulders and forcing me to calm down. "I'm not saying you have to do anything like sleep with the guy." She laughs, rolling her eyes. "I was just suggesting to bake him some pies or something. I doubt he expects anything in return."

I chew on my lip, unable to clear my head enough to think straight.

"I'm a good judge of character," she says, her hands still wrapped around my shoulders. "And I don't get any weird vibes from him. I think he's genuinely concerned about your well-being. Let someone be nice to you for a change."

"Lord knows no one around here is ever nice to me," I tell her sarcastically.

"I plan on working you double when you're feeling better."

"I'd expect nothing less."

"Now, get out of here. Go home, and go straight to bed. I'll stop by tonight and check on you."

Without my approval, my body sags in relief at her demand, completely betraying my resolve. I look at the money wadded up in my hand and decide to just accept it. For now.

On my walk home, I look up at the shiny buildings and wonder which one this Edward guy works in. What does he do? I don't even know his last name. How am I supposed to thank him? What does he expect from me?

My head begins to spin from all of the congestion paired with the weird situation I've been handed. After I climb the flights of stairs to my apartment, huffing and puffing from exhaustion, I practically fall into bed fully clothed.

A banging on my door wakes me from a dead sleep. Forcing my eyes open, I realize it's night time, and I must have slept all day. I look down and see I still have my shoes and work uniform on.

The banging continues, so I pull myself up and shuffle to the door, catching myself on the wall... and then the door frame, before finally opening it.

"I was about to call your super," LuAnne says with a worried expression on her face and a hint of panic in her voice. She's holding a brown paper sack in one hand and reaches up to feel my forehead with the other. Something a mom would do. I guess for all intents and purposes, LuAnne is the closest thing I have. At least here, anyway. Renee is probably off on some tropical island somewhere with husband number eight.

"You're warm," she says, pushing past me to get inside. "Why don't you go take a shower? And I'll make you some soup and tea."

I stand there staring at her, wondering what I'd do without her. Most of the time, we only exchange sarcastic comments and grumblings about customers. Occasionally, she'll ask about my life, but it's not like mine is much different from hers. She's me in fifteen years… or I'm her fifteen years ago… however you want to look at it. Basically, we're the same, so not much to tell.

"What are you just standing there for?" she asks, walking into my small kitchen area and digging around for a pot.

"It's by the sink. I only have the one," I tell her, pointing to where I had it drying on the towel. "And do you know how to cook soup?"

"Don't be a smart ass."

"I just don't want you to burn my apartment down while I'm in the shower."

"I can see you're not as sick as you're putting on."

I give her a fake cough and an even faker smile before heading to the bathroom and shedding my clothes. I can't remember the last time someone besides me was in my apartment. I also started to think, _I can't remember the last time someone was this nice to me_ , but that would be a lie. Edward was nice to me. He was nice the day he stood up for me with the douchebag attorney, and he was nice today when he convinced LuAnne to convince me to go home. Usually, nice people make me leary, but with him, I'm not sure what to think. So instead, I climb into the shower and wash away the day and hopefully this sickness. There's no way I can afford to be off work any more than I already have been, even with the generous donation from the Edward Foundation, which somehow I plan to repay… with interest.

.

.

.

Rolling over in bed, I realize my t-shirt is damp, meaning my fever must've broken overnight. I lean over to look at the alarm clock on my night stand, and it's not quite 4AM. I practically slept for an entire day. The only time I was awake was when LuAnne came by and I took a shower and ate some soup, which she managed not to burn. Color me impressed.

Slipping off the side of the bed, I test the waters. Sometimes, it's hard to tell if you still feel bad while you're lying in bed. Regardless, my fever's gone, so I'm going to work. I have to.

And since I'm up early, I might as well go ahead and get dressed.

If I get there early enough, I can make an extra pie for Edward as a down payment on his _loan_.

.

.

.

On my way downstairs, I stop by my super's apartment to slip my rent in the slot on his door. The reality of what Edward did for me sinks in a little further, and I hesitate for a moment.

The notice by the door, stating that all tenants who have not paid the previous month's rent in full by the twenty-fifth will be evicted, makes me drop the money before I can rethink it, or overthink it.

Edward seems like a perfectly nice guy. Deep down, somehow, I know his intentions are honest.

Or at least, I hope they are.

I'm sure we can work something out.

.

.

.

When I get to the diner, Mack is already in the kitchen prepping for the breakfast rush. Sometimes, I think he lives here.

Maybe he sleeps in the office?

"Hey, Mack," I say as the back door closes behind me. I pull a clean apron off the hook by the door and wrap it twice around my waist, tying it in the front.

"Hey, Bella," he says, looking up. "Hearing LuAnne talk, I wasn't sure you'd be in today. Feeling better?"

"I think so. No fever this morning, so…"

"That's good. We had a lot of unhappy customers yesterday when they found out there wasn't any pie."

"Job security," I tell him, laughing on my way to the walk-in freezer for supplies.

"I think you slip something in those pies," he teases. "Whatcha making for us today?"

"Well," I say, pausing to peruse the shelves, "looks like I have everything for a cherry and maybe a fresh apple, unless you've got plans for these?" I hold up the bag of Granny Smiths.

"Nope. All yours, kiddo."

"Thanks." I drop all the ingredients on the counter and get to work. "Hey, Mack?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I pay for the ingredients for another pie? You can take it out of my check, if that's okay."

"What's it for?" he asks, not saying no, just being nosy.

"For Edward—that guy who gave me the huge tip that one day," I tell him, pouring flour into a large bowl. "He gave me two hundred dollars the other day… for nothing, just because I was sick. And he told LuAnne to send me home." I mull it all over as I tell Mack. "It felt weird. No one's ever done anything like that before. I mean, I've had a couple weirdos over the years who thought a fat tip would get them some extra service, but he's different. Never even tried to give me his number or anything."

"So, what's the pie for?" Mack asks.

"Just thought it'd be a good start to paying him back. He really seems to like pie."

"Or just your pie." Mack snorts as he dices potatoes.

"Stop," I say, feeling my cheeks flame, just like they do every time someone mentions Edward liking more than just the pie. "I think he's just a nice guy. Innocent until proven guilty and all that."

"If he makes you feel uncomfortable, you come see me." His voice is stern and final. He doesn't say much, but one thing about Mack is he never lets anyone take advantage of his girls. The day of the dry cleaning fiasco, he was ready to shove that guy's pants down his throat, but I told him not to worry about it. Mack's temper is why LuAnne and I take care of the front. He's not really a people person.

"I will," I tell him, even though I don't see myself needing him to come to my rescue. At least, not with Edward. For some reason, I want to deal with him all on my own. He intrigues me.

Among other things.

But I'm not going to let myself go there.

Just like I told Mack, as of now, he's a nice guy who did a nice deed. I won't read anything else into it.

.

.

.

After letting Edward's pie cool, I wrap it in Saran Wrap and then some foil. I dug around in the storage room for a box but came up empty-handed, so a grocery sack will have to do. This is definitely a "don't judge a book by its cover" moment.

When LuAnne tells me I'm up at table ten, I look at the large clock on the wall and know this is my cue.

Setting the grocery sack down on the table in front of him, I preface it by saying, "The pie is a hell of a lot better than the presentation."

He looks up with a quizzical arch of his eyebrow.

"It's a, uh, down payment of sorts."

He glances back at the pie, and a small smile creeps onto his lips.

Very nice lips.

I roll my eyes at myself before continuing. "It'll take me forever to come up with the two hundred dollars, but I _will_ pay you back." I look down at my apron and smooth the front out of nervous habit. "And, um… thank you for that."

"Feeling better?" he asks, cutting off my nervous rambling. He meets my eyes and gives me a once over. The way his gaze travels around my body feels like more than just observation, but that could be me and my overactive imagination.

"Much." I place a clean coffee cup in front of him and walk to the counter behind me for a hot pot of coffee.

As I'm filling his cup, I watch him peek into the sack and inhale deeply.

"Blueberry?" he asks, taking another whiff.

"Blueberry Lemon," I tell him, smiling, because those have been his two favorites so far. "Especially for you."

His tongue darts out and licks at his bottom lip, and I have to swallow hard to keep from groaning.

Seriously, I need to get a grip before I do or say something really stupid.

"Anyway, thank you. I haven't had a day off in I can't tell you how long and…" I know he doesn't want to hear my woe-is-me story, so I stop myself. "Just thank you."

"You don't have to pay me back. It was a tip," he says, looking up at me. "And I think we've already discussed the fact that there isn't a cap on how much a customer can tip for good service."

"I've never done anything worth a two-hundred-dollar tip," I tell him.

He quirks his eyebrow and smirks at that comment, causing me to stutter and stumble over my words.

"Wh—well, what I mean is, uh, that was the second time you've bailed me out." I pause, trying to not get flustered. "I… I don't take advantage of people, and I won't feel right unless you let me pay you back."

There. That's my final answer. I stand up straight and wait for him to agree, but for some reason, I know it's not going to be that easy. I can tell by the way he keeps watching me, looking at me. I wish I knew what he was thinking… why he thought it was a good idea to give a waitress two hundred dollars… why _this_ waitress. Does he do this kind of thing all the time?

He nods, clearing his throat. "I know you don't take advantage of people, Bella. And I wouldn't have given you the money if I didn't want to. If you can't look at is at a tip, look at it as a gift."

I hear my name being called from behind me, but I shake my head, giving LuAnne a "one sec" over my shoulder. "You don't even know me. Not really."

"Yes, I do."

"No," I say a little firmer, feeling my hackles start to rise. "You don't."

Edward tilts his head back and lets out a laugh. It's glorious. His chiseled jaw is even more defined as the skin tightens. His Adam's apple bobs slightly. When he looks back at me, his eyes almost twinkle as he narrows them at me. "Stubborn, aren't we?" He says it almost like it's a challenge.

I frown at him, not liking the way he's obviously trying to get under my skin, because it's working. "I'm not stubborn."

At this moment, I wish there were a way to get the money back from my super.

I hate owing people.

I hate feeling like someone has the upper hand on me.

I hate someone telling me what I am and am not going to do.

"I'm paying you back."

I turn and practically stomp back to the kitchen, half-full pot of coffee still in my hand. When I set it down on the counter a little harder than usual, LuAnne's head snaps up.

"Who ruffled your tail feathers?"

I let out a frustrated groan, smoothing my hair back. "No one."

"Okay," she sing-songs. "Table four needs ketchup, and table five needs refills. Carla called in again… sick kid."

This day just keeps getting better.

.

.

.

As I'm finishing up behind the counter, long after closing time, a loud knock on the glass door almost makes me piss my pants. I reach under the counter to turn the radio down.

 _Fuck._ My heart is beating so fast it's making me feel lightheaded.

I squint my eyes, trying to see who would be knocking on the door this late at night.

My first thought is Mack, but he has a key, of course.

I consider turning off the rest of the lights and hiding in the back until they go away, but then I catch a glimpse of a familiar profile.

Now, my heart's beating fast for an entirely different reason.

I walk to the door, and when he sees me, he does this one-handed casual wave thing… like we're just passing by as we walk down the sidewalk. Something about seeing it's him puts me at ease. I can't explain it, but I want to let him in. And maybe that's a metaphor for more than just the diner.

With my hand on the knob, my more sensible side starts screaming out ridiculous homicide statistics. I could be the next missing person. They could find my chopped up body in the walk-in freezer.

He quirks that eyebrow at me, like _are you gonna let me in?_ And I smile… half nervous, half curious. Curiosity wins out every time.

"Hey." There's more question in my tone than anything, which is good. I don't want to sound nervous or scared… or eager.

"Hey, Bella." His voice washes over me like warm honey, and I'm definitely drinking his Kool-Aid. "I was walking by and saw you in here. What are you doing working so late?" He looks around my shoulder, inspecting the place.

"I stayed late to buff the floors," I say, pointing behind me, feeling like Baby in _Dirty Dancing_ when she says she carried watermelons.

"Alone?" That same critical look from the day I was sick is back on his face.

"LuAnne usually helps me, but she had a thing tonight," I blurt out. There goes my cover.

His brows pinch tighter together. "It's not really safe for you to be here so late at night by yourself."

"Oh, uh…" I shake my head a little. "Well, I do this all the time… well, not all the time, but a lot," I ramble. Why are my palms sweaty? _Shit_. Inconspicuously, I try to dry them on the front of my apron, but it's seen better days. I managed to spill spaghetti _and_ chili on myself today.

"Looks like you've had a long day," he says, following my gaze down.

"Yeah, guess so."

"Good thing it's Friday."

"I guess," I say, shrugging. I mean, does it really matter when you work weekends too?

We stand there for a second, and a somewhat awkward silence settles.

"Well," I say, trying to think of what to say or do, "I should finish up."

Edward nods and bites down on his lip, like he's debating something.

"Why don't I stay while you finish. I can walk you to your car, at least. Make sure you get out of here safely."

"I, uh… I walk."

"Well, then I'll drive you home."

Arguing with Edward doesn't seem to work very well, so I agree.

"Okay."

I let him in the door and lock it behind him. Looking out the window, I wonder if anyone else saw him come in here and if they did, what they're thinking.

 _What am I thinking?_

I want him.

In the most inappropriate ways.

"Stay on the rug," I instruct. "The floors aren't all the way dry yet."

"Okay." He stands on the rug, and I grab a chair for him to sit in.

"I'll just be a few more minutes."

As I start the buffer back up, I feel silly for letting him stay. This isn't the first time I've been here late by myself and won't be the last. I almost stop and tell him to go, but when I glance up, he's looking at me, watching me… like I'm the most interesting thing he's ever seen, and the intensity of his gaze causes the words to stick in my throat. So, I continue to buff the floors, with my head down to hide the blush on my cheeks.

When I'm finished with the floors and the buffer is back in the cleaning closet, I turn off the rest of the lights, and Edward follows me to the back door, his hand gently resting on my lower back.

"You really didn't have to wait for me," I tell him, locking the door behind us.

"I couldn't just leave you here by yourself. It's dark and late. Besides," he says in a hushed tone, his mouth close to my ear, "I've thought about you all day."

That confession causes me to freeze, my mind wondering if he really just said what I think he said.

"Let's go," he says, his hand still on my back, as he directs me toward the sidewalk.

"How far is your car?" I ask, trying to think of something to say… anything.

"Just another block." He motions ahead to the large parking garage.

"Why'd you give me the money?" I ask, because I need to know. I want to know what he wants from me.

He lets out a deep breath, and it vaporizes in the cold air. "Haven't we already been over this?" he says sternly.

"We have… I just... No one's ever done anything like that for me."

He looks over at me, but we continue to walk in silence across the street before he responds. "I think I see myself in you."

"Really?" I ask, arching an eyebrow and slowing to a stop as we reach the garage, waiting for him to lead me in the right direction. "Yeah, I can totally see the resemblance," I tell him, laughing sharply. "Is it the apron?"

Humor and sarcasm are my coping mechanisms. When life gets too weird or complicated or sad, I tend to make jokes. They're not always good ones, but they somehow take away the tightness in my chest and stomach.

"No," he says with a lot more seriousness as we walk by car after car that probably costs more than the entire apartment building I live in. "The girl trying to make ends meet, wanting to do more but having no way out of her current situation."

I swallow hard and cut my eyes over at him. "That's…" I'm getting ready to say "that's not me" or "you've got me all wrong", but it's true. That's me. The question is, how does he know that, and why would it remind him of himself? "What's a rich guy like you got in common with a girl like me?" I ask as he remotely unlocks a sleek black car with dark tinted windows.

"More than you know," he says, opening the passenger side door for me.

"Tell me," I demand, pausing outside the car.

"Get in."

 _So_ demanding.

I do as he asks, because I want to. When he shuts the door, the smell of leather and woods and spices fill my nose, and I close my eyes, inhaling deeply. The smell is familiar. It's an intense version of what I've faintly smelled on Edward at the diner. Above the smells of food and other customers, his has always prevailed, so much so that I miss it when he leaves.

He opens the driver's side door and slides smoothly into the seat. With a push of a button, the dash lights up, and the engine purrs to life. I want to rub the seat I'm sitting in… and take it home with me. It molds around me like a cocoon. I could sleep here.

"I haven't always been the rich guy," he finally says. "I know what it's like to never catch a break."

The sincerity of his confession washes over me. I stare at his profile, trying to imagine Edward any different than how he is right now, and I realize that money or no money, suit or no suit, he'd still be beautiful.

He pulls out of the spot he'd been backed into and out onto the city street. "Where to?"

"2nd and Harrison," I tell him, pointing to the left.

He doesn't reply, just lets out a gruff noise and turns left.

"I understand if you don't want to take your car down there. I wouldn't," I tell him, figuring his displeasure was due to the location.

"I don't care about the car."

I nod, unsure of what to say.

We ride in silence for a couple of blocks, the city passing by slowly, buildings turning from shiny office spaces to more industrial structures.

"How was the pie?" I ask, trying to fill the void.

"Delicious," he says, his brows still pulled tightly together.

"Did I do something wrong? You can just drop me off at the corner—"

"No, and no."

I turn my gaze back out to the street, but I can't help feeling like I've done something to upset him. He was fine until we got in the car.

"Take a right at the next light," I tell him, watching his profile as the street lights cast shadows and illuminate in varying patterns. One thing that is always prevalent is his jaw line. I've never seen anything like it, except maybe on a model in a magazine. It's so straight and strong. My hands kind of feel twitchy as I think about reaching out and touching it.

The car slows at the corner, and I begin to feel anxious. My apartment building is two blocks up, and I don't want to get out of the car not knowing if he's mad at me or not. I don't even know what I did to piss him off.

I'm not sure why it matters, but it does.

"Two blocks up. My apartment building is on the right hand side. You can just pull up at the curb."

He glances over at me, and the light from the street hits him just right so that his green eyes are brilliant, almost like beacons in the night. I've noticed them at the diner, but they're different tonight—greener, deeper, more beautiful. The way he looks at me with them makes me swallow hard, and I struggle to keep my composure.

He shifts the gear of the car, and something about the motion makes my stomach tighten. I'd love to watch him drive this on a highway where he can go faster than fifty.

 _What the fuck?_

Who gets off on a guy shifting gears in a car?

"This is it."

He pulls to the side and puts the car in park.

I guess I should get out now, but I don't want to, and I don't know what to say. I need him to do something or say something.

"This doesn't look safe for a girl living alone," he says as his eyes scan the building and the surrounding area.

"Who says I live alone?" I ask, not liking the way he's criticizing my hood or being so presumptuous. Although, he's right. On both counts.

"Do you?" he asks, turning a bit in his seat to face me.

The intensity of his gaze forces the truth right out of me. "Yes." I reach for the door handle. "Thank you for driving me home," I say in a rush.

Edward moves quickly, reaching across my body to keep me from opening the door. "Not yet."

I lean back, suddenly consumed by him… his scent envelops me, and he's so close I can feel the heat from his body. Instead of sitting back in his seat, he looks up at me from under ridiculously long lashes, ones that guys shouldn't be allowed to have. Women pay big bucks for lashes like his.

"Your eyes are _really_ green," I mutter, lost for something else to say, confused at his behavior.

He smirks.

And it goes straight to my vagina.

Like I physically feel it.

How is that possible?

Swallowing again, I switch my gaze from his lips back to his eyes, which are now burning into me.

"I—I'm gonna… go," I say, pointing over my shoulder.

"Stay there," he demands, and even though I'd normally balk at someone telling me what to do, I do it. I stay and watch him gracefully slip out of the car and walk around the front. When he opens my door, I hesitate for a moment.

His hand appears in front of my face, and I stare at it for a second before placing mine in it. It's soft but firm. He keeps hold of my hand until I'm standing in front of him, and I awkwardly look at him and then at where he's touching me and then away at the dirty gray apartment building.

The contrast between the surroundings and Edward and his shiny car is like night and day. He's the day… or maybe he's the night.

Despite the brightness of his eyes, they take a darker turn as he continues to look at me. And I can't help but wonder what it would be like to kiss him. My gaze focuses on his lips, and I notice them twitch, and then his tongue darts out and wets them, making them even more tempting.

"I'm going to kiss you," he says. "If you don't want me to, now's the time to speak up."

I shake my head.

"I'm going to need some words, Bella."

"Yes."

"Yes, you want me to kiss you?"

I nod, unable to make air come up to work my vocal cords. They're paralyzed, as am I. Edward's hands come up and cup my face. I watch as his lips come closer. He pauses for a second, searching my eyes and my face for a sign that this isn't what I want, but he won't find it, because I do. I want it—want him—so bad it's all-consuming.

The second his mouth touches mine, any control I still had over my body vanishes. His kiss is soft and sweet at first, pressing gently.

"Open your mouth," he whispers against my lips, and I do, allowing him access, silently telling him _more_. And he obliges. His tongue pushes inside, and my entire body reacts to the sensation of being devoured by him.

He pulls back too soon, his teeth nipping at my bottom lip, and I let out a small gasp at the loss of contact.

"I'll watch you while you get inside," he says abruptly, something resembling pain in his tone.

"Oh… okay." I nod like this is normal… like it's something I do all the time. Gorgeous men kissing me on the sidewalk in front of my apartment. Happens all the time.

"Bella," he says after I've finally forced my feet to turn and start to walk. I turn back around, still feeling the lingering effect of his kiss, to see him reach into his breast pocket. Taking a step toward me, he gives me a card with "Edward Cullen" in big bold black letters. "That's my personal number. Call me. If you need a ride or you're working late by yourself… anything."

"Okay," I agree, his words only partially processing in my brain. "Thank you again."

He merely nods and slips his hands in his pockets, waiting for me to walk into the building.

As I make my way up the stairs, I wonder if Edward is still standing on the sidewalk, looking like a dream. Curiosity drives me, and instead of walking, I start running, taking the steps two at a time. When I get to my door, I quickly unlock both locks and fly through it, slamming it shut behind me. I pause at my window and take a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down and only peek. If he is there, I don't want him to know I just ran the stairs to steal one last look.

And there he is. Even from three floors up, he still looks beautiful. And it might be my imagination, but I think I can still see his green eyes, and they're looking at me. He cocks an eyebrow and does a two-finger wave and then turns and walks back around to the driver's side, climbs in, and slowly pulls away.

I look at the card in my hand and place it to my lips that still feel tingly from his kiss.

Would it be weird to call him now?

Would he answer if I did?

What would I say?

The adrenaline that begins to pump through my veins at the thought makes me practically break out in a sweat. Until tonight, I'd kept myself from thinking too much about him, knowing he's completely out of my league and no one I should even fantasize about.

Fantasies aren't a luxury I allow myself. Fantasies only lead to disappointment.

I'm a realist.

But… after that kiss and being in a confined space with him, smelling him, touching him… I know I won't be able to help myself. My mind is going there. It's imagining things I didn't even realize I wanted.

I pull the curtain back once more, just to make sure he's gone. When all I see is the empty street and a guy rummaging through a dumpster, I close it back and take my Edward Cullen business card and lie down—clothes and all. I think if I close my eyes and inhale really hard, I can smell him.

.

.

.

.

It's Monday morning, and normally, I'd punch the snooze button like it's my job, but when my alarm goes off, I'm already awake. Actually, my body has been awake for hours with crazy, steamy dreams of Edward Cullen. He doesn't come to the diner on the weekends. Some small part of me was hoping he'd show up anyway, but no such luck. So this morning, all I can think about is seeing him. I shouldn't. I know. I'm being a stupid girl. But I can't help it. And I swear I tried. I tried thinking about other things, reading a book… I even worked late with LuAnne on Saturday, even though I didn't have to.

Seeing that it's only 4:15 in the morning, it's still dark, and there are hardly any cars out. As I walk, I look up at the city skyline and wonder if Edward lives in any of those tall buildings. Does he have an apartment? Or maybe he lives in midtown? I guess it's even possible that he drives in from one of the suburbs. For some reason, he seems like an apartment kind of guy. Luxury. But something manly.

Suddenly, I'm yanked back, and the next thing I know, instead of daydreaming about living spaces and ogling the skyline, I'm lying flat on the sidewalk, staring up at nothing but blackness… and a street light. It takes me a second to register what just happened, and the pain in the back of my head is definitely not helping. I roll over onto my side to see the retreating form of a person in a hoodie, running full speed in the opposite direction.

"Shit."

"Fucking shit."

"Dammit."

I don't know if I'm more pissed off that some fucker just took my bag and ran or that I'm lying on the dirty sidewalk and currently experiencing the worst pain in my head since the night I got drunk on Hot Damn.

"Fuck," I groan, rolling the rest of the way over and pushing myself off the ground. "Enjoy the chapstick, asshole!" I yell to nobody, because the fucker is already gone.

After I get my bearings and feel around the back of my head to make sure I'm not bleeding, I realize what a huge fucking inconvenience this is. My wallet, which didn't have much… maybe like ten bucks, my bus card, my keys... The keys are the worst thing because one goes to the back door of the diner, and the other is to my apartment, which I'll have to pay two hundred dollars to have replaced. I learned that one the hard way.

Tears spring to my eyes, even though I don't want them to, and not because my head hurts, even though it does. Frustration and just wanting to catch a motherfucking break. That's what does it.

Why couldn't he have stolen some rich lady's bag?

Not that I want anyone to have their shit stolen, but damn.

And my fucking library book.

Shit.

I know those bitches will make me pay.

I groan and turn to continue my way to work.

Mack is just gonna love this.

.

.

.

"I'll have cherry," he says, looking up at me.

And for a second, I forget my name… and I forget the shit storm this day has been. First being mugged. Then I had a mean customer. Then I spilled a tray with oatmeal. Ew.

Pie Guy at table ten is the highlight of my day. Carla's even here, but I switched with her. There's a table of businessmen at table two who always leave hefty tips. She didn't think twice.

"I was going to bake you your own to thank you for taking me home last week, but I didn't have time."

A small smile creeps onto his lips. "Wasn't necessary. It was my pleasure, actually."

"Well, it was nice of you, and I already feel like I owe you too much."

"You owe me nothing," he says, his voice harsher. "But…" He pauses, his hand rubbing over the scruff on his jaw and making my stomach do that flutter thing it does when he's around. "I was thinking. If you really would like to do me a favor, I have an idea."

"Anything," I say before I even get a chance to check my words before they leave my mouth.

"My mom is hosting a fundraiser for a women's charity. She mentioned yesterday about the bakery she normally uses going out of business. I thought you might be able to help her with her desserts. She would pay you, of course."

"Really?" I ask.

"Yeah, I haven't mentioned it to her yet. I wanted to ask you about it first."

"I'd… I mean, yeah. I'd love to. I don't see what you get out of this, though."

"Trust me. I'll get what's mine." His green eyes start at mine and then travel down and then back up.

The heat in my cheeks follows, and before I make a fool of myself, I turn to walk away. "I'll be right back with your pie," I blurt out, not looking back. I can't, because if he's still looking at me with those smoldering eyes and those long lashes, I couldn't be held responsible for my actions.

After Edward finishes his pie and coffee, he stops me on my way to another table.

"You still have my card, right?"

"Yeah, it's in my... Shit, no," I grumble.

"Did you lose it?" he asks.

"No. Some asshole stole my purse this morning."

"What?" The tightness in his jaw and the flare of his nostrils makes me take a step back, the tray I'm still holding almost sliding out of my hands. Edward stands from the booth and steadies me, keeping the water and juice from hitting the floor. "What the fuck, Bella?" he asks, his voice low and gravelly in my ear.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For whatever pissed you off," I tell him, pulling my arm from his grip but hating it the second his hand is no longer touching me.

He lets out a frustrated breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You walk to work alone? In the dark?" he asks, not looking at me.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because," I say, letting the word draw out. "The bus takes too long, and no one else is really walking to work at 4:30 in the morning." The sarcasm is thick, but I can't help it. He's kind of pissing me off.

"Why didn't you call me?"

"At four in the morning?" I ask. "Really?"

He takes out money and slaps it on the table. Then he takes out another crisp white card and puts it in the pocket of my apron. "Call me when you get off work. I'll be by to pick you up. Don't walk home."

The tone of his voice sends chills up my spine, but not in bad way… not in a Freddie Krueger kind of way… in a different way, something I've never felt before.

I nod and watch him as he stalks out of the dinner.

The customers who were watching us go back to their meals and conversation, but I'm left standing there with my tray full of drinks, trying to wrap my mind around what's happening between me and Pie Guy.

.

.

.

"I'll see ya tomorrow," LuAnne says as she heads out the back door.

"Okay," I call out. "Be careful."

"You too, honey. And call him," she demands. "If I find out you didn't, I'll beat you with a wooden spoon."

"Fine," I tell her, followed by a huff that could rival any teenage girl. I pick up the phone by the cash register and dial the numbers on Edward's fancy card. Fast. So I can't talk myself out of it.

"Edward Cullen's Office. How may I direct your call?"

"Uh," I start, feeling stupid. "Edward Cullen?" I don't know what to say. My phone skills suck. I think about hanging up, but she replies with, "Can I tell him who's calling?"

"Bella… Swan." Slapping my forehead, I cringe. He doesn't know my last name. That qualifier isn't going to make a damn bit of difference.

"Please hold."

"Miss Swan." Edward's voice on the other side of the phone is unmistakable. His tone isn't gruff like it was earlier. He actually sounds pleased. Maybe because he's had a good day or maybe because I did what he asked me to do. I don't know, but I'm glad. For some reason, his happiness makes me relax a little.

"Is it closing time?" he asks.

"Uh, yeah. I'm finishing up in the kitchen, and then I'll be ready…" I trail off, not knowing what else to say.

"I'll be there in ten minutes. Back door, right?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"See you then."

The phone goes silent before I get a chance to reply. "See you then," I say to no one, staring at the phone as I place it back on the base.

Pulling out the new key Mack gave me after he had the lock replaced today, I suddenly remember that I don't have a key to my apartment. When I called my super this morning, there wasn't an answer, and he never called me back. Quickly, I search around the register and look through the message pad that's always there. No message for me. Panic rises inside.

Maybe he'll be there when I get home. I mean, he's in charge of the place. Surely he has a master key or something.

A knock at the back door makes my heart practically leap out of my chest. I turn the rest of the lights off and crack the door.

"How did you know it was me?" Edward asks.

"I—uh, well… you were the only person it could be."

"Ask who it is next time."

Grumpy Edward is back.

"Ready?" he asks, looking over my shoulder into the dark kitchen.

"Yep." I shrug, feeling weird with nothing to hold on to… no bag.

After I walk out and close the door, locking it behind me, I put the key in the pocket of my uniform.

Edward walks ahead and opens my door. Thanking him, I slide in and put my seatbelt on. As he walks around the car and gets in, the panic I started to feel about not knowing what the hell I'm going to do about getting into my apartment burns in my chest.

I'm not typically a worrier, but not knowing if I'm going to be able to get into my apartment makes me uneasy. That's my place. It's not great. It's not even good, but it's the only place I can call mine. Even though it's a crappy apartment, it's my sanctuary.

"What's wrong?" Edward asks, his voice softer.

I shake my head and look out the window as we begin to pass the tall shiny buildings. The events of the day are finally catching up with me, I think. And for the second time today, I feel like crying.

"I'm sorry if I was harsh," he says, one hand on the steering wheel, one capable hand on the gear shift. "I just worry about you. I don't want anyone or anything to hurt you…" He drifts off for a second as he changes lanes quickly, accelerating to pass a car that's obviously in his way. As we slow at the stoplight, he looks over at me. "I can't explain it, but I feel very protective of you."

I swallow, looking at him, watching him.

No one has ever said that to me. No one. Not my mom nor my dad—the people who should've been protective of me. Not my stupid boyfriend in high school. No one. The words cause the tears I was already fighting off to sting my eyes.

Biting my lip, I look out the window, refusing to cry.

"Are you scared to go home?" he asks. "Do you think the asshole who stole your bag lives around you? Where exactly did it happen?" His questions come out quick, like he's been thinking about it. "I'll get to the bottom of this."

"Don't," I tell him, shaking my head. "Do you know how many times a day some douchebag steals something?" I snort out a hard laugh. "I'm sure the cops have a lot better things to do with their time." Besides that fact, Mack already made me file a report this morning.

"Was there anything in there that would lead them back to your apartment?"

"Just my keys," I tell him, feeling completely defeated. "And my license. But I doubt that's what they were after."

A low guttural sound makes me glance up, and the look on Edward's face is lethal.

"Look, guys like that..." Pausing, I reach over and place my hand on his arm, trying to calm him down. "They're usually after money or shit they can sell. And let me tell you, they really got jipped. Pushing me to the ground and stealing my bag was more work than it was worth."

"He pushed you?" Edward asks, pure anger lacing his words.

"I fell."

"Motherfucker," he mutters, doing that thing where he pinches the bridge of his nose.

"I'm fine. It's fine," I tell him, leaning back into my seat.

"I don't want to take you home," he says, idling at the stoplight a few blocks from my apartment. "It's not safe."

"It'll be fine."

"It's not fine," he retorts.

We're both turned in our seats, facing off, neither of us backing down. I have to wonder who is more stubborn, because I have a feeling we could both give the other a run for their money.

"Did you have new keys made?" he asks.

"No," I answer truthfully, because what's the point of lying? "I'm hoping my super has a master key."

"Have you talked to him?"

"I tried earlier, but he never answered."

"So," Edward starts, cocking his head and obviously trying to keep his calm but failing. "Had I not asked, you weren't going to tell me, were you?"

"Why would I? It's not your problem."

Deep breaths.

Both of us.

"I'm making it my problem."

We sit there for a minute. There are no cars behind us, so Edward waits through another light.

"If I hadn't said something, and the super wasn't home, where would you have gone?"

That's a very good question. One I don't have an answer for. "I don't know."

He growls out of frustration, pressing his head into the seat and then rubbing his hands over his face.

"Look, Edward, this is very nice of you… Everything you've done for me is really nice. I still don't know how I'm going to repay you, but I will," I tell him, determination firing up inside me. "Don't feel like you have to fix things for me. I'm a big girl, who's made it this far on her own. I'm sure I'll figure a way out of this one."

"I can't leave you."

"You can. I'll be fine."

He accelerates, and instead of driving forward, he makes a sharp u-turn in the middle of the street, and the engine revs loudly as we drive back the way we came.

"Where are we going?"

"I need to know you're safe."

"Okay..." I don't know what that means. "You didn't answer my question."

"You're coming home with me tonight."

His words cause my breathing to pick up. My face gets hot, and all coherent thought leaves my mind. Home. Edward's home. With Edward. Overnight. None of that computes. Maybe it's the lack of oxygen or the stress I'm under, but I just stare at him, unable to reply.

"You don't have keys to your apartment. It's late. I'm not leaving you. So, you're coming home with me. I'll take you to work tomorrow morning and then take care of the key situation."

"No," I say, shaking my head, but everything else is saying yes—my body, my heart… the butterflies in my stomach. _Shut up. Shut up. Shut up._

"Why?" he asks, challenging me.

"Uh," I start, stuttering and struggling for a good answer. "I don't have clean clothes. Or toiletries. You hardly know me, so that's like asking a stranger to stay the night at your house." The more my argument builds, the stronger my voice gets, and I try to turn the tables on him. "What's wrong with you, Edward? You can't ask some stranger into your house. What if I'm a serial killer or a thief?"

A smile creeps up on his gorgeous lips, and he lets out a bark of a laugh. "You've got a lot of tenacity, Bella Swan. I really like that about you."

His voice drips like honey, and I hate him for making me stupid with only a few words.

As we drive down the street, headed back toward the tall buildings, I want to say something, but nothing comes to mind. He's rendered me speechless. I'm equal parts nervous and… exhilarated? I don't know. I've never felt this way before.

Watching Edward stand up for me and take charge did things to me. Demanding me to get in his car should've thrown up red flags, made me run in the other direction, but instead, it turned me on even more than arguing with him did.

Edward hasn't said another word. I keep stealing glances, but the way his jaw is clenched and his eyebrows are drawn together, I'm assuming he needs a minute. So, I sit back and try to relax.

We drive past the street the diner is on and into an area I've never been to. The bus I take occasionally doesn't even come by here. It's mostly high-end shops and walk-up apartments. Edward's car slows, and he turns into a lot, punching a passcode into a keypad, and the gate in front of us opens.

When he pulls into a spot and turns the car off, we both sit there for a moment. I'm waiting for a cue from him because I'm totally out of my element. After a minute, he gets out of the car, and I stay put, still not sure if I'm doing what I think I'm doing.

The door opens, and Edward stands there, offering his hand to me.

I war with myself but then surrender, partly because I have no other option, but ultimately because I want to.

Edward holds my hand, and I follow him up to the building and inside to an industrial-looking area. The man sitting behind the desk greets Edward as we walk to an oversized elevator. He pushes the button, and we wait. The fact that he's still touching me does not go unnoticed. In fact, it's doing weird things to me. There's a flip in my stomach and a burning sensation that goes straight between my legs, like an electrical current.

I've been turned on before.

I'm not stupid.

Or a virgin.

It's just been a while.

And there's the lingering question of whether Edward even wants me that way. But I think he does. He did kiss me, better than I've ever been kissed in my life. And he looks at me with hunger in his eyes. I don't know why. Why me? But part of me doesn't care.

And then there's also the fact that he's bringing me here out of necessity. He's not the kind of guy who'd leave someone out on the street to fend for themselves.

I love that about him.

I love that he's kind and that he'd go out of his way to help someone like me.

I love that he's protective, even though I don't really know why.

I love the way he makes me feel.

When did this become about loving anything?

What the fuck is wrong with me?

"Bella," Edward says, breaking through my thoughts.

I jerk my head up to look at him, like a kid who just got caught with my hand in the cookie jar, and immediately feel a blush creep up on my cheeks.

"What?" I ask, hoping I don't sound as nervous and flustered as I feel.

"Where'd you go?"

"Sorry. It's just been a crazy day."

He nods and steps out of the elevator and straight into a huge space. There's no hallway or anything, just a big, open room with high ceilings and brick walls. A kitchen area is on the left with lots of stainless steel everything, including the countertops. And there's a living area in the middle with two large leather couches and a television that takes up an entire wall. The bed in the far right corner is massive, like three times the size of mine.

"Bathroom is over there," he says, pointing to the corner of the space I hadn't made it to yet. "There're towels and whatever you might need."

I nod and just keep staring.

"I can make us something for dinner, or I have stuff for sandwiches," he continues, walking toward the kitchen and hanging his suit coat on the back of a chair.

When he turns around and sees me still standing there, he takes a couple of steps toward me and then stops. "Don't be nervous."

"I'm not," I lie.

"I can get you something to change into. Make yourself at home," he says as he unbuttons one cuff of his shirt, rolling the sleeve to his elbow. The action causes my mouth to go dry, and I swallow hard.

I do need to go to the bathroom, and a shower actually sounds really good. I could use a minute to myself. Walking toward the bathroom, I turn to see him watching me. "I'm going to shower," I say quickly, shutting the door behind me.

Leaning against the hard surface, I close my eyes and try to reconcile the events of the day… mugged, losing my keys, Edward demanding I call, the drive, the super, Edward being my knight in shining armor. I didn't even know I liked that kind of stuff. But I do. I so do. It may sound weak, but I like someone taking care of me. I've done it on my own for so long. It's kind of nice to have someone on my side besides LuAnne and Mack. A tear slips down my cheek, and I wipe it away. I refuse to be a crying, girly mess. This day could've turned out so much shittier. I could be sleeping on a cold floor somewhere.

This isn't horrible.

Actually, this is kinda the opposite.

As I look around the bathroom, my mouth drops open at the enormous walk-in shower. There's glass and tile and two shower heads, and I think I've died and gone to heaven.

After I shed my clothes, I turn the water on and let it warm up.

Edward taps on the door, letting me know he set some clothes out there for me.

Did I mention thoughtful?

Kind, chivalrous, protective, considerate… fucking gorgeous and so out of my league.

When I'm dried and dressed in a pair of Edward's sweats and t-shirt, I take a brush to my hair and then use some mouthwash I find in the cabinet. Just in case. I inhale deeply, and I'm not going to lie. I like smelling like him.

When I walk out of the bathroom, the wonderful aroma of bacon practically knocks me over.

Is he trying to seduce me?

Because it's working.

"I thought some BLTs would be good, but if you don't like—"

"Perfect."

.

.

.

"You have to be tired," he says, watching me from across the table.

"A little," I say, eating the last bite of bacon that fell from my sandwich. "Too bad we don't have any pie for dessert."

Edward's brow arches, and I stop picking at my plate and stare at him.

"Why do you always have pie for breakfast?"

He shrugs, and for a second I think he's going to avoid the question, or maybe he doesn't really have a reason.

"I grew up in foster care. I never got to choose what I wanted for breakfast, and we never had dessert." His tone is even and honest. I've caught glimpses of his vulnerability, but nothing like this.

"How did you go from foster care to this?" I ask, feeling completely impressed and mesmerized by the man in front of me.

"My parents, for all intents and purposes, adopted me when I was fourteen. If it weren't for them, I'd probably be dead or in prison."

I want to argue that what he's saying isn't true, but I've seen it happen to people I know.

"What about you?" he asks.

What about me? That's a good question… or a boring one. "There's not much to tell, really. Small town girl who couldn't wait to get out. My dad worked at an auto repair place my whole life. Still does. My mom is on husband number eight. I haven't seen her in ten years."

"So, you moved to the city by yourself?"

"Yep. The week after I graduated from high school. I packed up two suitcases and a box of books and hitched a ride with my cousin who was on his way to California." I laugh dryly, shaking my head. "I had a thousand dollars to my name and felt like the world was my oyster."

"Then what?" he asks, giving me a small smile.

"I got a job at the diner the second day I was here. A lady had just quit, and Mack was desperate, took a chance on an unknown. I tried to go to college but ended up blowing through the little bit of money I had saved up and was forced to quit."

He nods. "Sometimes, all we need in life is for someone to believe in us."

"You sound like one of those inspirational posters."

He laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and it's beautiful. He's beautiful.

When he looks back up at me, his face goes serious.

I start to fidget, feeling the weight of his stare. So instead of sitting there, I pick up my empty plate and then his.

"Don't," Edward says, stopping me with his hand on my arm.

"What?"

"You don't have to clean up. I'll do it."

"I want to. You cooked. I'll clean."

He stands and takes the plates from me, setting them on the counter, his body close to mine.

"You take the bed," he says, his voice low.

"No." I shake my head. "I can't do that. You've already given me a place to stay. I'll take the couch. Besides," I tell him, looking over at the over-sized cushions, "it's probably more comfortable than my bed." I laugh lightly and then catch his gaze, his jaw set in a tight line again.

Something happens when he looks back at me. He takes a step closer, towering over me. The tension is palpable, and the air feels thick. I can't keep my eyes off his lips, wanting so badly for him to kiss me again, wondering if that was a one-time deal or something he regrets.

Slowly, he traces down my arm, and then his hand is on my waist, pulling me to him. My breath hitches at the contact, and my nerves kick into full force because I want this so bad.

"Please tell me you can feel how much I want you," he says in a husky voice, his mouth so close to my ear I can feel his hot breath, and it sends chills up my spine and a flood of heat through my body.

"I want to be inside you." His boldness makes my knees go weak, and I grip his biceps to keep from falling into a heap on the floor at his feet.

"Have me," I tell him, summoning all the strength I can to match his bravery.

"I don't share," he warns.

"Okay." I nod, ready to agree to anything to be with him.

"If you're mine, you're mine," he growls, and my stomach drops out of my body and lands at my feet.

"Okay," I whisper again. "I—that's… what I want." I've never belonged to anyone, but if I were going to belong to someone, anyone… I'd want it to him.

Without another word, he pulls me even closer, and I'm in total submission, molding to his touch and allowing him to have me any way he wishes.

One hand is in my hair, and the other is on my backside, gripping tightly as he walks me backward out of the kitchen. The next thing I know, I'm being lifted off my feet and carried.

"Please tell me you're not a virgin," Edward says, breathing heavily. "As much as I would love to be the only person who's been inside you, I don't think I'll be able to go slow."

"I'm not," I say between desperate breaths.

With the pause in action, I begin to second guess what I've agreed to. We've only kissed once, haven't even been on a date or anything, and now I'm being carried to his bed.

"But I don't do this… have sex with someone I'm not dating. I haven't had sex in a long time."

He growls, and again it goes straight to my core. The need I feel for him grows, and the need he feels for me is evident between my legs. I can feel his cock pressing against his thin slacks. Without permission, my body rubs against his, and he hisses between his teeth. "Fuck," he groans. "You." His eyes bore into mine. "Just when I think you couldn't be more perfect, you say things like that and completely turn me inside out. I want you so damn bad, but if you want to do slow, we can do slow."

"No." I shake my head. "No. I want this." My words are true and firm. I mean it. "I didn't realize how badly I wanted it until now. Not just want, need… I need you. Please."

In one swift move, Edward tosses me onto the bed and pulls his shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor. Next are his slacks. No hesitation as he pops the button and unzips them, letting them fall to his feet. Unashamedly, he sheds his boxers, and his cock bounces as he frees it from its confines.

Holy. Fuck.

To say it's been a while is an understatement, and I feel moisture seep onto my thighs at just the sight of him.

"Off," he says, pointing to my shirt and pants like they're offending him. "I want to see you."

I do as I'm told by quickly pulling the shirt over my head and shimmying out of the pants. They're so loose it's easy work, and since I didn't put any panties on after my shower, I'm completely naked… bare, exposed, vulnerable… and somehow it's okay.

"So perfect," he mutters before climbing over me, his arms caging me in. Instead of feeling trapped, I feel free. Being with Edward makes me feel safe and wanted.

"Just to be clear," he says, his voice smooth and low. "I plan on fucking you."

My eyes grow wide at his candor, and the wetness between my thighs multiplies. I don't reply, because I don't know how to.

"Spread your legs for me, Bella. Let me make you feel good."

My knees fall to the sides as he leans back and kneels between them. I watch as he sticks two fingers in his mouth and then runs them down my slit **,** circling my entrance. After a few more passes without penetration, I'm practically begging for it. My hips arch off the bed, and I grip the soft blanket beneath me in both hands. Closing my eyes, I let myself just feel.

When two fingers slip inside and something hot touches my clit, I practically jump off the bed. I open my eyes to see Edward's gorgeous head is between my legs, and I nearly come right then. It only takes a few more minutes before his talented tongue and fingers coax an orgasm out of me… and then another.

"That's perfect," Edward's voice soothes from down below. "So fucking perfect."

I can't stand it any longer. I need him. I need to feel his weight, and I want him inside of me. I want to know what it's like. I want to be his, even if it's just for tonight.

"Please… I—I need you… To feel you," I plead.

Crawling up the bed and over me, he settles himself against the headboard. "Come here." He crooks a finger in my direction, inviting me over.

I never feel sexy. That's just not me. But in this instant, with him looking at me with hooded eyes and a cockiness that stirs something deep inside me, I do. Rolling over onto my stomach, I crawl toward him, kneeling beside him.

He reaches into his nightstand and pulls out a condom. The thought had crossed my mind, but after the mind-blowing series of orgasms, I'd kinda forgotten. I'm glad he's on his game.

I watch intently as he opens the package and unrolls the condom down his length, the need I've felt since he said he was going to fuck me beginning to build. I want him. More than I've ever wanted anything in my life.

"Come here," he instructs, gripping my hips and guiding me into place.

The second his cock is at my entrance, I freeze. What if it hurts? What if I'm not what he wants? Self-doubt is a bitch.

"Look at me, Bella," he demands. "Keep your eyes on me."

I lock eyes with him, the tension increasing. His teeth come down on his bottom lip as I allow the tip of his erection inside. It feels good. So damn good. "More," I pant, breaking our gaze to look down between us as his length slides in another inch.

"So fucking tight," Edward says with a moan. "So. Fucking. Perfect." Each word is emphasized as his hands grip tighter on my hips, like he's holding on for his life.

After a few seconds, I slide down until our hips meet. His pelvis rubs perfectly against my clit, making me moan in approval.

"Does it feel good?" he asks.

I nod, my breath catching in my throat.

"Tell me. Tell me how good I make you feel."

"So fucking good," I cry as he forces my hips up and down, faster and faster.

"Who does this ass belong to?"

"You."

"Tell me," he demands, gripping my backside, his fingers digging into my flesh, causing it to sting in the most delicious way.

"It's yours." I let out a deep breath, resting my lips on the skin of his neck. With each intake, his scent washes over me, infiltrating my senses—spices, woods, clean cotton, and something singularly _him._

He owns me, making me want things I never dreamed of before—this, him.

.

.

.

In the darkness, I forget where I am.

Panic rises up inside until I feel strong arms wrap around my torso and hug me close.

 _Edward._

Flashes of last night play like an old home movie in my mind, his words coming back to me.

" _I don't share."_

Owning.

Belonging.

I never saw myself as someone who needed someone else. I made it fine on my own. I wasn't looking for anyone when Edward happened to cross my path. But now, lying here in his arms, I can't imagine wanting anything less.

It feels good to be wanted. Needed. To belong to someone… and to own him just the same.

* * *

 **Hosts Note: Please leave the author some love by leaving a review. If you happen to know the author's identity or "think" you do, please do not hint to this in your review, as this can compromise the author's anonymity and lead to disqualification.**

 **Add us to author alert to be notified of new stories. Want more info? Find us on Twitter at CPSffContest or visit our Control. Possess. Seduce. Contest Facebook page.**

 **Public voting: February 21 2016 to March 6 2016.**


End file.
